


i’ve been saving this for you, baby

by impulsemomentum



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: FIFA, Like, M/M, Oblivious, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, no really, there’s absolutely no plot whatsoever, virgin marcelo, youve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsemomentum/pseuds/impulsemomentum
Summary: One night, after Sascha finishes thrashing Marcelo at FIFA, he flops down on the bed, stretching luxuriously, and throws out, completely casual, “Hey, you wanna fuck?”Marcelo’s brain short circuits for a moment. “Que?” He frowns, trying to think if he just imagined it, or if fuck was some new slang for “get destroyed at FIFA again” that Sascha just hadn’t taught him yet.





	i’ve been saving this for you, baby

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i don’t know the true extent of sascha and marcelo’s relationship, i make no attempts to assume, and this is just my own interpretation :-) they are real people with real lives and i don’t intend to offend anyone
> 
> my first pwp fic!! how exciting :’) this literally took me three days to write because i’ve never written this much smut before, in such detail, haha
> 
> here is the first of hopefully many contributions to saschelo on ao3; they’re really quite adorable together, just look at the video of marcelo interviewing sascha and you’ll be hooked, i swear
> 
> for reference: alexander “sascha” zverev, 21 y/o german, is world no. 3 in singles, and marcelo melo, 34 y/o brazilian, is world no. 2 in doubles :-) they are absolutely adorable together and do things like play fifa and mention each other everywhere just because they can
> 
> title is from “bloom” by troye sivan

One night, after Sascha finishes thrashing Marcelo at FIFA, he flops down on the bed, stretching luxuriously, and throws out, completely casual, “Hey, you wanna fuck?”

Marcelo’s brain short circuits for a moment. “Que?” He frowns, trying to think if he just imagined it, or if fuck was some new slang for “get destroyed at FIFA again” that Sascha just hadn’t taught him yet.

Sascha rolls his eyes, rising slightly from the bed to lean on one elbow. “Fuck. Hook up. Have sex. Put your dick in m-”

“I-what?” Marcelo was reasonably sure he managed that one in english this time, and turns to Sascha, aware that his face must rival Rafa’s best rubber eyebrow moments right now.

Sascha frowns at him, sitting up. “Do you not want to? I just figured, you aren’t dating anyone, we’ve been flirting for the past couple months, I have some downtime, we might as well start now.”

“No, I..We have been doing the flirting?” Marcelo frowns right back, harder, because everything is a competition between them. “I never...I no think about this.”

“Really.” Sascha raises an eyebrow. “The late night FIFA sessions, you sitting in my box all the time, mentioning each other in interviews and speeches. That wasn’t flirting?”

Marcelo opens his mouth, then closes it, out of things to say.

Okay, in his defense, Marcelo thinks, it’s not like he’s had a lot of experience with this. He’s never dated anyone, never even thought of dating anyone past his mama’s increasingly insistent questions on when he’s getting married and giving her grandchildren, let alone actively seek out sex.

He tries again. “No, I no realise, I never...I never know this.” He feels his face heat up, and averts his gaze.

Sacsha sounds confused. “What do you mean you didn’t realise?”

“Sascha, I...” Marcelo shakes his head, frustrated that his english is betraying him at the most critical of times. “I never...no girlfriend, no boyfriend, no nothing. Never.”

He hears the sheets rustle, and lifts his head to see Sascha sitting up, eyes widening. He squeezes his own eyes shut, inexplicably embarrassed.

“Marcelo.” Sascha’s voice is different now. Softer, gentler. Marcelo feels a hand grasp his arm, and opens his eyes, surprised. “You mean you’ve never...nothing?” Sascha’s gaze is intent, completely serious for once.

Marcelo nods, feeling his blush darken. “I know is maybe...” He struggles for the right word. “estúpido? ingénuo? 34 years and nothing.”

“No, no, I...” Sascha’s eyes are impossibly wide, and his voice is barely a whisper. “Marcelo, I’m sorry I offered like this. I didn’t know...you deserved something better than that.” He clears his throat, moving his hand away from Marcelo’s arm. Marcelo feels the loss of the comforting warmth, and suddenly wants it back more than anything.

“Sascha.” Marcelo gathers every single bit of courage he’s gathered over the past 34 years. “I want...I want to try. Maybe not...everything. But..will you, ah, teach?”

Sascha’s pupils suddenly turn very dark, and Marcelo feels something tighten in his belly, an unfamiliar yet not altogether unpleasant frisson running through his chest.

“God.” Sascha says, but it sounds more like an exhale. He places a hand on Marcelo’s face gently, almost like Marcelo is made of porcelain. “May I kiss you?”

Marcelo nods, and his eyes flutter shut as Sascha bridges the distance between them, bringing their lips together, and oh, this is what it’s all about, Marcelo thinks. He feels electricity pass through their lips, feels Sascha’s hand on his face and the other one on his thigh, and opens up willingly when Sascha’s tongue begins to explore. He feels like everything’s too much, but also too little, the heat of Sascha’s mouth enveloping his other senses. He wonders what that would feel like elsewhere, and feels liquid heat pool at the bottom of his stomach.

When they finally break apart, Marcelo feels more like a pile of silly putty than the world number 2 doubles player. Sascha’s panting hard right in front of him, and Marcelo can see the front of his shorts tenting. His mouth abruptly dries, and he wants.

Sascha follows his gaze down to the front of his shorts, and blushes, the warmth in his cheekbones reflected by the blue light of the glowing screen. “I, uh, I can go take care of it by myself.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Marcelo frowns, conflicted. On the one hand, he knows he’s not ready, wants to take his time, but on the other hand, he wants to see Sascha, completely wrecked, shouting Marcelo’s name as he comes. He feels so utterly dirty, but also unbearably aroused. He can feel his own cock, straining against his boxers, and makes a decision. “Can I...” He looks into Sascha’s eyes, earnest. “I can watch?”

Sascha’s head falls backwards, a groan escaping his mouth. “God, oh god, _yes_ , Marcelo, anything you want, holy _shit_ that’s hot.” Before Marcelo can say anything, thoroughly embarrassed, he pulls the older man in for another passionate kiss, hand with a bruising grip on his hip. Marcelo hisses at the pain, but inexplicably grows harder. He moans, feeling sensations he’s never been able to replicate by himself before.

Sascha pulls back sooner than Marcelo would like, and he whines, burying his face into the younger’s neck and nosing his head through the silky strands of his curls. A gasp escapes Sascha’s mouth, and his grip on Marcelo convulses. “How do you want me?” Sascha’s voice is low, husky, and Marcelo shivers unconsciously.

“I...” He hesitates, unsure of what to do. Sascha sees, and grins, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Just let me do the work, yeah, Bärchen?” Sascha makes quick work of his t-shirt, and sprawls leisurely on the bed, head pillowed by lanky arms. Marcelo’s seen his body countless times before, but there seems to be something different this time, and he finds himself entranced by Sascha’s abs, finally gaining definition from his extensive time in the gym. He reaches out a hand to touch, trailing upwards to circle at a nipple, hearing Sascha hiss.

“I never knew you’d be such a tease, my god.” Sascha teases, taking Marcelo’s hand and bringing it to his mouth, sucking enthusiastically at a digit as he raises an eyebrow, staring into Marcelo’s eyes. Marcelo chokes, and the other hand flies down to cup the base of his dick to try and keep from coming.

“Nnngh, _caralho_ , Sascha.” Marcelo moans as his finger slides out of Sascha’s wet mouth with a filthy plop.

Sascha smirks, because Marcelo’s definitely taught him that one before. “Good?”

Marcelo nods, gaze intensifying as he sits back, and Sascha takes the hint to remove his shorts and toss them haphazardly into a corner of the bedroom. Marcelo loses focus of everything but Sascha for a moment, because of course he’s not wearing any underwear.

Sascha’s cock, is, well, gorgeous. Long and curved, leaking at the tip as it strains against his toned stomach. Marcelo’s seen cocks in the locker rooms too many times to be affected usually, but seeing Sascha, biting his lip as he grasps the base of his dick with one hand and circles an erect nipple with the other, Marcelo sees sparks behind his eyes.

“I wanna show you, _fuck_ , liebling, I wanna show you how good it is, _ohh_ ,” Sascha rambles, hand setting a steady rhythm as his head falls back against the pillows.

Marcelo feels an intense ache between his own legs as he sees Sascha come apart. Sascha opens his eyes, panting hard, and reaches out for Marcelo, and he can only oblige, climbing closer and seeking out Sascha’s mouth.

Marcelo covers the German’s body with his own, and gasps as he feels sweet, sweet friction against his own desperately hard cock from Sascha’s thigh. Sascha growls, shoving at Marcelo’s shorts, and he hastily undresses, flinging them into the same corner Sascha had previously done the same to.

“Lemme show you, yeah?” Sascha pants, lining their cocks together and thrusting, and _oh_ , Marcelo cries out, stars bursting behind his eyelids.

“Ahh, ahh, Sascha, merda, please, _please_ ,” Marcelo loses all form of coherent language, and he thrusts against Sascha desperately, burying his face into the German’s neck and biting down, drawing out a broken moan from him.

“Marcelo, Marcelo, ‘m gonna, _hnngh_ , m’gonna come,” Sascha gasps, nails leaving stinging scratches on his back, and Marcelo simply intensifies his rhythm, losing himself in the sweet glide of his cock on Sascha’s, the sheer perfection sending sparks up and down his body.

Sascha groans Marcelo’s name into his shoulder, nails gouging deep as his cum splatters the two men’s stomachs. Marcelo loses himself too as he feels the warmth coating his abs, and almost screams, the force of his orgasm almost blinding him.

When he finally comes back down to earth, Sascha has cursorily wiped the spunk from both of them, and is curled contentedly against him, almost purring with satisfaction. “How was that?” Marcelo can feel him smiling against his shoulder.

“ _Nossa_ , Sascha.” Marcelo sighs, feeling a soppy smile overtake his entire face and not particularly wanting to stop it. “You are...are so..” He doesn’t know the words to describe that particular experience, only that he wants to do it again, many more times.

“Incredibly handsome? Good in the bedroom? Talented at FIFA?” Sascha laughs lightly, trailing exploratory fingers over Marcelo’s chest. “I’ll take any of the above.”

“So much a child.” Marcelo teases back, turning back to face Sascha so he can see his unbidden adoration for this young man.

“Really? You call me a child after all we’ve just done?” Sascha raises an eyebrow, smiling wider.

Marcelo buries a smile into the crook of Sascha’s neck. “Maybe you have to keep showing me, no? Lot to learn.”

Sascha stills next to him. “Yeah?” He says quietly, impossibly fond. “You want to keep doing this?”

“All the time now, no?” Marcelo laughs helplessly. “Now, hitting with Lukasz, is gonna be in my head, you, on the bed, like this. Never gonna win no more matches.”

“I like to think maybe I’d help your game, yeah?” Sascha grins. “Give you incentive to win.”

Marcelo inhales sharply as his dick twitches, making a genuine attempt to become interested again. “You no say things like that, no? I am old, no go again now.” He reprimands, pressing a kiss to Sascha’s jaw.

Sascha laughs, curling an arm over Marcelo’s chest. “Yeah, okay, old man, go to sleep. Better be ready for round two tomorrow.”

Marcelo groans. “You,” He says emphatically, covering his eyes with a hand, “gonna kill me.”

He carries Sascha’s delighted laughter with him to sleep, Sascha curled possessively around him.

**Author's Note:**

> some translations:  
> Bärchen - a german endearment, means something like little bear i believe? google tells me this is appropriate for men so i’ll take it  
> caralho - fuck in portuguese  
> liebling - another german endearment, meaning darling  
> merda - shit in portuguese (there seems to be a pattern here but w/e lol)  
> nossa - portuguese slang(ish), short for “oh my god” or something of the like
> 
> pls leave kudos and comments! i crave Attention and also need feedback because i am incredibly inexperienced at writing smut


End file.
